The next day.
King's Landing, The Mud Gate.
Daeron yawned, shifting his weight as he waited for the great ships to dock.
He hadn't gone to sleep until two in the morning last night. Yet, the moment he arrived in King's Landing, the Master of Laws had dragged him out here to represent the Royal Family and greet their guests.
It was all because his father, Aerys, had gone completely obsessive recently. The King had holed himself up in the Dragonpit, refusing to come out. Rumor had it his latest research project was "Ancient Valyrian Fashion Trends."
"Truly a shining example of diligence," Daeron thought sarcastically.
Colton leaned in, whispering a reminder, "Prince, please mind your appearance. The one arriving is Prince Doran's own brother, Prince Oberyn."
"He's just a Red Viper," Daeron replied, unimpressed.
Colton choked on his words, smiling awkwardly. "He is, after all, Princess Elia's brother. We cannot breach etiquette..."
Daeron mentally rolled his eyes.
If it weren't for welcoming Elia, he would have learned from his father and his teacher and simply not shown up at all.
Elia had given birth at the end of last year to a daughter named Rhaenys Targaryen. The infant had been too frail to travel immediately, so they had waited. Now that it was April, little Rhaenys had safely passed the five-month mark and was ready to be presented to the lords of the Seven Kingdoms.
The ministers around him had been whispering in his ear: With the birth of Princess Rhaenys, Prince Rhaegar's support is growing. His influence is reaching new heights.
Daeron scoffed at the notion.
He had dragons. That alone made him invincible in this competition. Even if that Iron Chair was passed to Rhaegar, Daeron knew he'd be the one cleaning up the mess in the end.
Best to just keep a cool head.
Wooooo—!
The sailors blew their horns as two massive ships pulled into the slip.
The docks were packed. Between the nobles here to welcome the Dornish Princess and the Royal Princess, and the curious smallfolk, there was hardly anywhere to stand.
Soon, Elia's familiar figure appeared, flanked by guards. She still looked frail, though motherhood had added a certain mature grace to her presence.
When she reached him, Daeron looked at the bundle in her arms. "Is this my little niece?"
"Yes. Her name is Rhaenys Targaryen."
Elia's face was pale—whether from seasickness or the lingering toll of childbirth—but when she spoke of her daughter, her expression softened into a gentle smile.
At her nod, Daeron pulled back a corner of the swaddling cloth, revealing a chubby, round infant face.
Little Rhaenys took after her mother completely. She had tufts of black hair and an olive, Dornish complexion. The little one was fast asleep, blissfully unaware that her uncle was sizing her up.
"She's cute," Daeron said, poking the baby's soft, squishy cheek before escorting Elia into the city.
Internally, however, he thought, Sure enough, the firstborn takes after the mother.
It was an unwritten law of House Targaryen: when a male Targaryen married a woman from outside the family, the first child almost always inherited the mother's features.
"Doesn't look like a Targaryen at all," Daeron lamented silently.
---
After settling Elia and her daughter, his mother, Queen Rhaella, disembarked with his younger brothers, Jaehaerys and Viserys.
"Second Brother!"
"Brother!"
The two boys, having been away from home for over half a year, threw themselves at Daeron like swallows returning to the nest.
Daeron picked them up, one in each arm, and smiled. "How was life on Dragonstone?"
Jaehaerys made a face. "It was okay."
Viserys, a year older now and more articulate, sniffed back some snot and said bluntly, "It was full of Dornishmen. They smelled terrible."
"Viserys! Hold your tongue," Queen Rhaella scolded sharply.
Viserys's face went pale, and he hid behind Daeron.
Seeing his little brother getting yelled at, Daeron just said calmly, "Let's go home."
He had already arranged for a wheelhouse to transport the family back to the Red Keep. Queen Rhaella said nothing more and boarded the white-lacquered carriage.
They waited a while longer.
Finally, a messenger dressed in Dornish garb approached, his accent thick and grating. "Honored Prince, there is no need to wait."
He explained that Prince Oberyn, disliking pomp and ceremony, had disembarked before dawn and was already somewhere inside King's Landing.
"Oh?" Daeron kept his face impassive. "So, it seems the Viper really does slither wherever he pleases."
Trying to play games with me?
Daeron glanced sideways. Alliser, who was maintaining order nearby, caught the look immediately.
Shortly after, Daeron led the Dornish envoy through the city gates. These Dornishmen were here representing Prince Doran, primarily to visit Princess Elia, and secondly to pay respects to the Iron Throne.
"Prince," a Gold Cloak captain interrupted their path, tossing a distinct, bright yellow embroidered cloak onto the ground. "We found a suspicious individual in a brothel in Flea Bottom."
"We snagged this while the suspect was... busy in bed," the guard added.
The Dornish envoy's pupils contracted. He clearly recognized the owner of the cloak.
Daeron chuckled. "Don't worry about it. King's Landing is crawling with rats; it's only natural a viper would go hunting for a meal."
The envoy's expression turned ugly.
He hadn't expected the Iron Throne's grip on King's Landing to be this tight. He had only just revealed that Prince Oberyn was in the city, and his location had been pinpointed instantly.
"Let's move," Daeron cracked his riding crop. "I won't keep my father waiting."
---
That Afternoon.
Daeron returned to the Red Keep from the Dragonpit.
He learned that Elia hadn't been summoned by his father yet and was temporarily staying in Rhaegar's old chambers.
"Just as I thought," Daeron muttered.
It had been months, and the Dragonpit was nearing completion. All that remained was the domed roof and a final check of the drainage systems.
Father Aerys had used this opportunity to make a demand: he wanted "Toothless" (Daeron's dragon) confined in the Dragonpit. This way, the King could be around a dragon all day without having to look at his second son's face.
Daeron agreed wholeheartedly. He moved Caraxes and Tessarion in as well.
However, none of the three dragons were chained.
Five hundred and thirty Dragonkeepers were stationed on Rhaenys's Hill, working twenty-four-hour shifts to guard the Pit and protect the "hatchlings."
Well, I can't really call them hatchlings anymore.
Caraxes was the largest, with a body length exceeding thirty feet—properly a sub-adult dragon. Once he crossed the sixty-foot mark, he would rival the adult dragons recorded in family history.
Tessarion and Toothless weren't growing slowly, either. They were both roughly the size of a warhorse, meeting the preliminary requirements for riding.
But they had no riders, and they listened to no one but Daeron. Anyone else who got too close would simply get roasted.
"When a dragon enters the sub-adult phase, its growth rate starts to slow down," Daeron recalled the texts he'd read as he walked.
A dragon's life cycle was roughly divided into hatchling, sub-adult, young adult, mature, and ancient. aside from the hatchling phase, growth slowed at every subsequent stage.
Throughout family history, there were only three true "Great Dragons": The Black Dread Balerion, Vhagar, and The Bronze Fury Vermithor.
The first two were the Conqueror's dragons—ancient beasts. Vermithor wasn't even a century old, but his size was remarkable, earning him a place in the records. The dozen or so other dragons in history had all been under a hundred years old, mostly young adults, before they perished in the Dance of the Dragons.
"I'm not worried," Daeron thought. "My special fish can power-level any dragon to its limit."
If Caraxes reaches his full potential, he's the one most likely to surpass the Black Dread.
A fire burned in Daeron's chest. He was just waiting for the moment to let that fire out; when he did, it would be a wildfire that consumed everything.
Knock, knock, knock.
He rapped on the door. After hearing a response, he pushed it open.
Daeron stood in the doorway. He saw Elia sitting sideways by the window, breastfeeding her daughter.
Ashara Dayne stood guard beside her, her brow furrowed in worry.